When All the World's Asleep
by Chikku-Chikku
Summary: "There has to be a Heaven up there. . ." 9 murmurs, opening his optics and turning to her with a rueful head shake. "Right, 7?" /Post-movie, angst


**When All the World's Asleep**

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><p>At night, when the sky's all but a swirl of storm clouds and the shadow of inky, black stars, 9 thinks he can see Heaven's staircase trailing by.<p>

7 sits next to him underneath their canopy shelter, her optics opened wide and silently watching the night slumbering away into oblivion. 3 and 4 curl up on either side of them, as silent and still as they'll ever be, and their shuttered eyes reflect back the light shining from the crescent moon above. No one says a word, even as the distant sound of dripping water and the murmurs of long-dead factory machines echo in the background. Even as the memories of a world long past its expiration date – sleeping as the present stays awake long enough to realize the futility of its existence – pull them into its grasp again.

Strangely, 9 finds peace in the strained silence – in the cold, yet nostalgic view of the moon swaying in the dead breeze; in the weary, yet pensive sigh of the clouds as they lumber into hiding, or weep invisible tears that reach the ground as dew drops come morning; in the bitter sight of the dirty, rotting staircase that floats high above his head, its once golden steps broken down to the barest of fodder, incomplete and never quite reaching the long stretch between Heaven and Earth.

He can hear the whispers surrounding him, voices of the past drifting through wind and air in distorted fragments. He can sense 7's closeness as their hands instinctively inch towards one another, her presence a comfort and yet, at the same time, a burden. On his right, 4 leans against him in sleep, her frame shivering as harshly and frighteningly as his. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees 3 wrap a tight arm around 7's body, his head falling onto her shoulder.

Mere galaxies away, the staircase continues to linger.

And down below, 9 traces its path with calculating, curious intent.

The faded steps quiver lightly in the breeze; and he imagines each bronze-colored block to be as light as a feather, to be as unreachable and untouchable as the beautiful world that once existed centuries before the Great War. He imagines the soft feel of the brick's texture as he slowly bounds up the staircase, spinning in place and savoring the long journey ahead, anticipating that final destination at the end. . .

A cloud drifts by. The image disappears, shifts away from him and his yearning gaze.

9 blinks in surprise, in slow, rising panic.

Even as those steps reach an arm out from the gates of Heaven itself, he finds his vision too blurry to see the sight of its welcoming, steady embrace. The thoughts filling his head are trembling and shaking as harshly as the clamor of the wind, threatening to bowl him over with its strength and sheer, brute force. In a matter of seconds, as 7's hand finally finds his, and the steps grow even dimmer in the cloak of night, all traces of peace are gone. The silence is nothing but a distinct droning of discomfort.

Something rises from within his stitched chest – something cold and icy and painful. Its bitterness is as tangible as the unexplainable rage and helplessness consuming him.

His eyes flicker, searching and searching for a glimpse of the beautiful gate floating mere moments ago above his head. But only the ebony black sky responds. Only the constellation of stars gaze back at him, their sad eyes seeming to reprimand him for his idiotic hopes, for his fanatical fantasies, for his lapse in control. . . of his sanity.

9 doesn't realize how tightly he's holding onto 7's hand until he feels her concerned eyes on him. There is a silence, even as he refuses to meet her gaze and she, in turn, refuses to relinquish her hold on him; an unspoken question and answer passes between them. 7 doesn't say a word, only reaches over to his side, gently and comfortingly, to wipe away the invisible tears falling down his cheeks.

It is only then, as he feels her warm, soft touch on his face that 9 realizes he is crying. Gasping out small, quiet chokes of something not quite there, some emotion not quite named yet.

He doesn't look at 7 as he shutters his optics.

"There. . ." 9 says, eyes closed tight. He points a finger up into the dark night. "Do you see it too?"

7's voice is quiet beside him. "Yes, I do."

"Isn't it lovely?"

"It is."

"Someday, we'll walk up those steps too. . . just like the others did."

9 doesn't notice the sad, tired look in 7's eyes as she nods, squeezing his hand. "Right."

He smiles at her affirmation, a smile that lights up his whole expression, that is almost enough to convince 7 of his next words. "There has to be a Heaven up there. . ." 9 murmurs, opening his optics and turning to her with a rueful head shake, "because that staircase is too beautiful to lead anywhere else." He lets his hand slip out of hers, and stretches his fingers towards the sky, towards the vast canvas of black. "Right, 7?" he whispers, gaze searching her eyes for confirmation.

His voice is so small and desperate that 7 finds herself unable to look back, optics downcast.

She doesn't answer.

Above them, the moon glows a pearly white-red, the outside of its surface so heavily blurred by the fog of pollution that the craters are almost nonexistent. Clouds drift in and out of the smoky horizon, so far and high away that they almost seem to be touching the very stars that dot the universe. Nothing stirs but the drip-drip of water leaking from the dozen broken machines around them; and the restless sigh of the dead is really nothing but the brush of the wind against their audios. Phantom shadows and midnight creatures dance in the darkness – even as the world continues to slumber through the dim cast of moonlight, unaware of the four beings waiting for her to stir and finally hand them their deliverance.

There is no staircase leading to Heaven. There never was. Only the memories are left now – memories and eternal waiting.

"Yeah," 7 whispers, and looking into 9's bright, hopeful optics, she can almost make herself believe the words.

"I'm sure there's a Heaven waiting for us somewhere up there."

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><p><em>Fin.<em>

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><p><strong>AN:** I like to think that 9 and 7 continue to remember the other sometimes, and that they (9 especially) are still heavily impacted by the loss of their friends. Is there a Heaven for 'people' like them, or is it just an illusion born from an endless waiting for something that might never come? 9 seems to think so, and I guess, to him, that's all that matters in the end. [12/3/11 - 12/4/11]


End file.
